The comedian Steven Wright once had this joke that went something like, "While I was gone, somebody rearranged on the furniture in my bedroom. They put it in exactly the same place it was." That's a bit like how I've always felt about figuring out how my sexual assault has affected my response to relationships. Something didn't feel right there, but I couldn't exactly pin down what it was. That's been frustrating because you can't work on something until you know what's there to work on.

I've been had difficulty trying to figure this out because I haven't been able to find a response similar to mine detailed in any literature on the subject. Most of the discussion about intimacy issues due to sexual assault seems to revolve almost entirely around sexual relations. It's oft repeated that post-assault, it's fairly common for survivors to either become 1) very fearful of or disinterested in sex or 2) extremely promiscuous. But neither of those two things ever happened to me. For me, sex was never a problem. I enjoy sex very much, and while I'm not what I'd call inhibited in bed, I've also never had the urge to act out sexually in some extreme, unhealthy way.

So sex was not what felt off for me. And yet something has always felt off. Trying to navigate an intimate relationship often leaves me feeling very unsteady and unmoored. And the books and articles I've read don't talk too much about anything else beyond sexual intimacy that's ever given me a eureka, "That's it!" moment.

Yesterday, though, I think I finally experienced a breakthrough. I believe I was finally able to create a synapse that allows me to articulate the situation to myself in a way that will let me look at it and figure out how to accept and integrate this into my relationships in a conscious way, hopefully resulting in a more positive experience for both myself and my partners.

So, two things that I experience that I think are probably not "normal" for other women when it comes to relationships:

1) Whenever someone approaches me and attempts to get to know me or communicate even somewhat intimately with me (tries to be "personal"), I always immediately switch into a light "feelers out" mode to assess what their "agenda" is. That is, I assume that everyone who approaches me has an agenda, and I have to decide if it's harmful or not. This behavior is consistent across the board with every new interaction I have, but for everyday interactions, it's fast and low key. It's more in the background and not high pressure--I don't feel particularly panicked or unsafe. However, when it is a man (or woman, for that matter) approaching me with overt physical, romantic, or sexual interest, the warning bells go off much louder and this "feelers out" behavior kicks into overdrive. I don't define it as this feeling when I'm doing it, but looked at objectively, I see I do feel "nervous"--in as much as it's as if my nerves and sensors are highly, busily active, disallowing me any level of comfort. When this kicks in, I will do multiple subtle "tests" (or what I see as tests) to assess if the person is "real" and genuinely innocent in his interest, or if he is trying to "play" me. Every word, look, action, and reaction becomes highly magnified and viewed individually of each other.

I'd figured out this one before today, but it's connected to item number two below, which was the missing piece. The part that's interesting is that although I've always known on some level I do this (though perhaps not so consciously), what I didn't know until recently is that most women do NOT do this. I assumed this was natural behavior that everyone partook in--a basic instinctual behavior every animal uses to protect itself from predators. In fact, I thought anyone who didn't engage in such behavior was, well...stupid. And setting themselves up for harm.

2) This was my wake-up realization yesterday, that I'd never been able to see before. I'm sure for most women, as they get to know their lovers or significant others better, they become increasingly more secure in their regard for them. This is not the case for me. Once step #1 above is over, and I've supposedly established for myself who I feel is the genuine person and have begun to develop a relationship with that person, the fear that motivates #1 above doesn't lessen, as logically it should. That "I'm safe with my alpha dog/pack mate/what have you" instinct never kicks in. Instead, something weird happens: the more I grow to trust a man in an intimate relationship, the the more my insecurity in that relationship, my need to test, and my need for reassurance that I am safe with him and that he won't suddenly turn on me and hurt me persists and even grows larger and more frightening.

In short, my fear continues and/or increases as things get better. The more trustworthy the person becomes, or the more staid and predictable the relationship gets, the more afraid I become the person is secretly masking a lack of regard or boredom with me, and that he therefore is or will eventually secretly be doing activities that will devalue or hurt me.

And I think this must be directly related to my assault in large part. Given my first association with aggressive sexual interest was in a context where the person should NOT have been sexually interested in me at all ("responsible" doctor with secret agenda), it's clear why #1 is in effect. And similarly, given that my assaulter was in a highly trustworthy role and exploited that role to confuse me and get one over on me, it's no wonder that #2, is in effect--the more "reliable/responsible/trustworthy/normal" something appears, the more I need reassurance from that person that it's going to STAY that way and not turn into something ugly because I'm not paying enough attention and have allowed the appearance of safety to lull me into being hoodwinked.

This fear results in me feeling as if I need to be continually hypervigilant against the signs of danger, and I can never get relaxed and comfortable with a loving relationship. It leads me to interpret comfortable, long-term relationship behavior displayed by my partner as disregard and disinterest in me that will ultimately lead to devaluation and/or abuse. I can NOT "relax and just groove on it," as one boyfriend once begged me to do. I can NOT "take it for granted" that someone still loves me. I can not "take it for granted" that that person will continue to do so, even if he did so yesterday, or even the hour before. I seem as of yet to be almost entirely without that mechanism that allows one to start relaxing into the relationship, and riding a wave of feeling calm, positive, happy, and...well, safe. I never feel safe. I *need* to be reminded regularly of the things other, normal people can simply take for granted or I become, on some hidden level, terrified. Terrified the monster is going to come out just when I thought everything was okay, proving once again that I'm a fool prone to being used, my judgement is impaired, and I can't "pick" a trustworthy man. (Or perhaps that no men are trustworthy? Probably both.)

And that driving need for reassurance results in still other behaviors I don't even enjoy the feeling of, but compulsively do anyway, such as:

• Directing overwhelmingly high levels of loving affection and attention at the other person
• Becoming a slave to feeding my constant and never ending hunger to be re-reminded that I am in fact loved and treasured as special to him, leading me to act out either directly or passive-agressively in any number of ways (more "testing") to test to see if I am still safe, if he is still thinks I am valuable, or if instead he will turn on me and become something other than what he is purporting to be

Again in short: stifling and needy--which, ironically, are two major characteristics I found most oppressive and ever-present in my own upbringing, and that I find most odious in other people now. They say you hate most in others what you hate most in yourself, and I guess it's true.

Anyway, this was a revelation to me. It's interesting how you can live with yourself and your behaviors for your entire life and not be able to gain perspective on them until some small thing happens and then suddenly...bang, there it is.

I'm not sure how I will work with this knowledge now that I have it. But somehow I feel just being conscious of it will help me have better relationships.

I mean, I know how difficult my lack of consciousness on this has been for me. I *knew* I was behaving compulsively, and I didn't even LIKE it when I was doing it, but I couldn't contain it and I didn't know why. And with no perspective on it, I couldn't explain it to myself or my partners. I wasn't able to take a step back and see what was really in effect. And I can also see how difficult my unconscious behaviors must have been for my partners to deal with, too. It's not comfortable to feel over-loved in a way that insinuates expectation of equal return (even if I didn't consciously recognize I was doing that). And how insulting and infuriating it must feel when you know how much you love someone and she can never really process that. I'd imagine it would seem like I was always calling them a liar. And my desperate fear and need for reassurance might come across as either clingy or pushy, depending, rather than what it really is. And if I wasn't able to articulate for them what it really was, how would they, who don't have my issues, have any idea what's going on?

I'd like to become less insecure and more confident in others' regard of me. I don't want to be so needy of affection that I push others away. And I'd like my lovers to have the comfort and loving relationship with me they deserve--one that doesn't feel for them as if, through my own disbelief in their regard, *I* am making it impossible for them to be able to love me the way I'm asking to be loved (what a terrible trap I've been setting for them and for me!). And one that doesn't in any way make me or them feel I think they're a liar or a potential asshole under an assumed personality.

So I think on both sides me being conscious of this and being able to explain it will help. It will help me step back and examine why I'm behaving certain ways and what the core root of that is. And this will probably help me both contain it somewhat and help me stay centered rather than panicked. And that state of mind would help me explain what's going on to my partner, which would give him a key to what I need to feel safe. I think if my partner were conscious of where my fear lies, he'd have a much easier time understanding and providing the spontaneous reassurance that I need. This might allow us both to head it off at the pass before it goes into overdrive compulsion and becomes something negative for both of us. It would allow us to find a baseline where I get just enough so that I *would* start to become comfortable and safe, but not so much that it becomes a burden. And a shared consciousness of this would also help my partner step back and observe my behavior as something other than what he might have assumed it was motivated by. Rather than assume it's about him and some imagined shortcoming I'm accusing him of, he'll know it's about me, and what about me it is. So he'd be able to ask me good questions when my behavior appeared to be tending toward the compulsive in the above ways, and that would in turn give me the reality check I need to take a breather, stop merely reacting out of fear, and really think about what is going on and what I'm really feeling in that moment.

These are all just thoughts, yet to be tested. But I'm glad I've had the realization. I think it's important. It feels like a missing link I've now recovered. I think it will help.

I think sometimes we higher primates get so tied up in our wondrous cognitive abilities that we forget the basics. When in truth, we'd do better to remember nothing else matters as much as the basics.

Relationships are complex. And in the complexity that can develop, one can lose oneself and what one really needs at the basic level. And when that happens, one's course gets lost, and one finds oneself on a path mired in sticky webs of diversion, until you're coated in them and can barely move. And then you're so busy trying to fight off your constrictions that you lose all sight of why you were making the journey in the first place.

Or in short, one loses one's basic needs.

I'm sorry I keep letting myself forget my basics. I'm sorry I keep letting myself accept being asked to forgo them, or to accept substitutes.

I don't want much. In relationships, there is really only one basic thing I'm looking for. Otis covered it a long time ago, and he got it right:

Tenderness. Openly expressed. This is and was all I've ever wanted from anyone, at any level, and most especially my lovers. To be held and valued and loved, and told I am so, daily. It ain't hard; it costs nothing to give. And yet, I've not been with many who gave it entirely freely and willingly.

I make a vow with myself from today forward not to forget this basic of mine ever again. From now on, if my basic need is not present or openly given, I will declare it not for me and I will move on. I won't beg or humiliate myself for it anymore. I won't stay, hoping it will change or that the person will suddenly, miraculously wake up and realize what they've got in me.

I deserve more than that. I won't punish myself like that anymore; and I won't let anyone else punish me like that anymore.

From now on, anyone who doesn't have Otis's credo in his heart doesn't get to have me.

Because, really, who doesn't deserve a little tenderness?

Not too long from now, I'm going to a wedding of an old friend of mine.

This friend was married to another friend of mine for many years. Then, some significant things--significantly negative things-- happened in their marriage, and after a period of making a concerted effort to sort it out and repair the damage, they decided it was just too far gone to be fixable and they decided to get divorced. My friend walked away from the divorce significantly hurt by the experience.

Not six months after the divorce papers had been signed, my friend met and was well on his way to falling in love with another woman. Six months after that, he proposed to her, and they planned to be married only a few short months from then. The wedding is very soon. He is happy and looking forward to starting his new life with his new bride.

Now, I'm absolutely happy that he's happy--I wouldn't want it any other way. I'm glad he's found someone he feels love for and with, especially after a period of serious unhappiness.

But for some reason I'm having trouble deciding if the entire story, laid out as a map in front of me, says something very doubtful about the believability of both love and marriage as concepts, or if it says something very hopeful about both. Like the clipped lyrics in my title from that famous song about both, it can be read more than one way. But which is the right interpretation?

What do you think?

The beast in me
Is caged by frail and fragile bonds
Restless by day
And by night, rants and rages at the stars

We were young lovers; not in love (well, maybe secretly, a little), but at least very in love with being young lovers. We fucked constantly, until one day he told me confidentially he was so raw he thought he might need to take a one-night reprieve just to protect the health of his poor, aching cock. And then, within minutes of having said this, he was fucking me again. And again and again.

He lived in a flat with others, so we would go to his bedroom when we wanted to be alone together. We always wanted to be alone together. And, since the wardrobe and his big bed took up most of his small, crazy-wallpaper-patterened, bay windowed bedroom, even when we weren't fucking, we more or less lived together in bed. We talked, ate, played, read, fucked, dressed, undressed, and did everything else together in or on his bed, surrounded by a floor strewn with books and ash trays and empty Bulgarian wine bottles made into makeshift candle holders. We fucked with the bay windows open, on purpose. And wondered who in the long rows of flats on the opposite side of the street had seen us.

But it is not him I want to tell you about. It's about a moment I remember that happened with him; a moment never completed, and one I've always tried to find since.

We were, one night, as all other nights, in bed. We generally slept naked but in this memory we had on some clothes. He had on some old sweatpants and I had on an old, worn-out t-shirt of his with some punk band logo on it. We were lounging around, chatting, doing nothing in particular, and then somehow, a pillow fight started. I can't remember who initiated; it is gone from my memory. It might have been me who suggested it; he was always far too intellectual and serious and, well, English to click into goofball play mode unless I prodded him a tiny bit--but I knew he was always dying for the prod. So I would prod, and then he was off. This was probably one of those times. "Let's have a pillow fight," I might have said, and I think, after some teasing and goading, perhaps it was he who first lightly, good-naturedly smacked me with his lumpy, worn feather pillow. I grabbed the other and smacked him back. We were laughing; he hit back again, a little harder. I jumped to my knees while he was still half-lounging below me, raising my pillow above my head to deliver a fatal smacking blow. While I still had the pillow raised over my head, he smacked his full into me, across my face.

And suddenly the air became charged. Delighted at his dirty fighting, I howled with the fake anger of wounded betrayal and pounded him with my pillow, seeking revenge. He leapt up out of bed and I pursued. We ran around the room and scrambled over the bed, smacking each other over and over, each time progressively harder. And each time I got hit, I loved it. And each time I hit him harder and harder, I loved it. It was like my whole life had been slow up to this minute, and now, now I finally knew what it was like to have blood coursing--rushing--through my veins. It was a delicious, delighted rage I felt. It was a heady insanity; an intense reverse evolutionary rush that changed us from adult to child to--yes, yes!--animal in mere moments. We ran, screaming and laughing and hitting each other harder and harder. And it was so good. I couldn't stop, now that I had found this feeling. I could feel him fighting and I fought back; it was so good; beyond words.

I hit and hit and hit and hit again, harder, harder, teeth bared with effort, noises coming out of my throat, hoarse and growling with delight... and it was better than orgasm; better than heaven; total release, complete freedom, no sense involved, just sheer rage-filled adoration and arousal---and I wanted to live there forever.

And suddenly he wasn't hitting back anymore...I heard him shouting something....I held back for a moment...and everything zoomed in to a hyper-suspended moment of stillness...

And there we were staring at each other...him barefooted, bare-chested, breathless, on the floor at the foot of the bed, looking up at me as I stood above him on the rickety bed, barely clothed, pushing my hair out of my face, panting, eyes locked with his. My pillow raised and ready to defend or strike, shakily balancing myself, watching him for any sudden move. I stared into his eyes, a strange kind of exhilaration coursing through me. I felt like a wolf, like a cougar, some wild thing, circling another of my kind, ready to run in for the final fight. And oh, I wanted it. I wanted to feel the moment of engagement. I wanted to feel the fight and the rip and the kill. I wanted to feel myself doing it and I wanted to feel him doing it to me. I looked deep in his eyes, ready to howl in ecstatic rage as we leapt at each other. And he looked back at me and I could see...fear.

No, no! I thought. Don't back down! Don't leave me here! Fight back! Stay up here with me in mad animal nirvana! Show me what you're made of! Make me fight you! Wrestle me down and roll with me on the ground, biting and scratching and growling and fucking and fucking and fucking me till we lose our minds.

I tried to say this with my eyes. But I could see the light had gone out in his; all I could see was fear. And then hidden close behind, anger and possibly disgust and...was it humiliation? But above all, a desire--a begging--to turn to back to normal. Not just begging for him to. For both of us to. For me to not be this thing I had become. And the feeling inside me, it was like a balloon slowly being leaked of its helium.

I have never found any man, ever, who wanted to stay there with me at that level of animal savagery; who didn't hold back or back down and stop it before we'd really gotten there--beyond. It is a crossing over, allowing oneself to be in that state, and one needs to be willing to turn certain things off to be brave enough to stay there. Most people are not comfortable with the absence of those things.

This doesn't mean my relationships aren't good. They are; the sex is good and very satisfying within the boundaries of how far the men I am with are willing to take it. I understand that most people don't want to go to this place. And I don't like my lovers to feel afraid or uncomfortable, and I like lots of the other places they do like to go.

But for me, the lack of someone who can understand and connect to this state with me often leaves me feeling like a prisoner who has been kept in seclusion for many years. I long for that feelng of release; but it will take at least one other willing person to make it happen.

No matter how many years you keep a prisoner in the darkness, though, she can still remember what a sunlit garden looks and smells and feels like.

I still dream of the garden. And of someone who also dreams of it, who gets it and who's willing to open the door to it with me.

I hope I can find him so the seclusion can be over. He's who I'm looking for.

The other day, I received a phone call from a long-time female friend who, while traveling, stayed at the home of one of my former lovers. She wanted to tell me about a long conversation my ex-lover had with her about me.

Some history:

I met this man when we were both in our very early 20s and still quite young and fresh to both love and sex--and when my expectations about being able to attain a life full of both with one person who loved me beyond measure were not too heavily marred by cynicism or fear.

When I met him, then just in the earliest stages of his full manhood and virility, I experienced feelings I have never had before or since with any other person. Whenever he'd appear, I'd get those "butterflies" people talk about--a giddiness I'm not prone to in romantic attachments. But in truth, "butterflies" is too delicate a word for what I experienced; it was much more than that--more like, whenever I saw him, my insides did their best imitation of that old amusement ride the Rotor, with my stomach serving as the drop-floor. It happened every time, followed by sheer joy and surging pleasure when he would smile at me or take my arm or simply walk next to me. The smell of his skin near me made me hunger for him; in pubs, in theaters, in shops, everywhere. When at a restaurant, he put his chopsticks up to my mouth to let me taste his dish, and I put my lips around the morsel accepting what he'd offered, it had an intimacy, sexuality, and arousing naturalness about it that could not be described.

But it was more than just sensuality that drew us to each other.

Okay, so here's the scenario. You've been getting to know someone new; it's clear you're both attracted to each other, and you know each other at least enough to know you generally like each other as people (as in, this is not an anonymous hookup). Your drawing together results in a sexual experience (the first you've ever had with this individual). It can be an experience of any sort--in person, via phone, via IM, whatever. The point is, sexual intimacy is exchanged--orgasms are reached. You have the usual afterglow moment, and then you both leave the metaphorical post-coital bed to go back to your individual living situations.

The next day arrives. What's the protocol?

In your opinion, should there, by rote, be contact the next day? Who makes the contact? What kind of contact should it be? What's good and what's just too much? In the case of heterosexual couplings, should it be the woman or the man who does so?

Or forget about the "shoulds." What do YOU want or do in this situation?

My own feeling is next-day contact is important. I definitely want contact. And I want the guy to initiate it.

I know this appears to fly in the face of feminism, and of COURSE if the woman wants to make first contact after first orgasm I think that's fine. But perhaps my preference isn't as anti-feminist as one might think. Let's face it, the world still is a patriarchy, and there is a certain amount of double-standard that exists in patriarchies. This double-standard feeds into an unspoken judgment of sexual women as being of "lower worth." The woman may reject this standard (as I do), and have the sex she wants to have, when she wants to have it (as I do). She may feel fine with that decision. But she also knows the judgment's out there in the world. And it's a nice reinforcement to get from the male she's just had sex with that he, too, rejects that standard.

So I think it's only polite for the man to be the one initiate the next-day contact formalities, rather than wait for the woman to do so. Why? Because doing this reinforces his enthusiasm for the woman's decision to be a fully sexual woman in the world. This does not mean I want the man's approval of my sexual choices. More, I want the reassurance he's not an asshole--that I accidentally didn't pick an asshole disguising himself as an evolved guy just to get some pussy. I want to know that AFTER he's gotten his rocks off, he's still acting like he thinks of my body and self as something of value he was lucky enough to have had me decide to share with him, rather than some inhuman thing to be used as his orgasm receptacle.

Because, yes, even with my entrenched belief that I'm just fine being as sexual as I want to be, I'll cop to still having an insecurity that the guy might not be, and that the day after, even after I've made what I feel is a careful choice about who to have sex with, said guy might turn out to be an undercover asshole user after all. It's pounded in to us women early on that men will do or say anything to manipulate us into having sex, and that afterwards, they'll think worse of you for having done so. Those voices in your head die hard, no matter how you feel about yourself. And men themselves don't always help to negate that stereotype. So it's nice to get the quick call, email, flowers, or whatever it is, to say, "That was a great time, thanks; I think you're great."

I think this holds even in casual relationships, where there won't be any kind of formal, long-term thing starting up. It doesn't take much effort to shoot off a quick email or phone call the day after. It's only polite.

So what do you think? What do you think is best the day after? If you're a male, do you suffer from the same after-sex insecurities about your partner's personality and/or opinion, and wish the women would contact instead of you? If you've been in same-sex couplings, what has your experience been about how people have handled "the day after?" If you think there doesn't have to be contact the next day, when should there be?

---

*with apologies to Emily, currently turning over in her grave

My Sex Tips for Virgins (Part 1) post that I wrote quite a while back continues to be one of my most highly keyword-searched and trafficked posts. Because of this, I've always felt a little guilty I didn't continue on with the series as I'd originally planned. Obviously a lot of people are looking for help in this area.

Today, I got a concerned comment on that old post from a very sweet girl, and my comment back to her grew to massive post length, so I'm going to post my answer here as a somewhat personally addressed "part two" in the series. Hopefully, as I get less busy, I'll be able to have more organized, generalized follow-ups.

I'd like all readers to keep in mind, however, that though I'm choosing to answer a younger person in this particular post, because she seems to really need some info, this site is in general an adult site, and is not meant for teen readership. So that means, any teen readers of this post, no peeking around elsewhere, or I'm taking your cell phones away for a year! Got it? Good.

Okay. Here's what the commenter wrote:

I'll be very honest with everyone, I'm only 14 & my boyfriend is turning 15 really soon. It isn't that we are 'planning' to have sex but we both can sense it's coming up, we are sort of afraid to move bases, I really don't know what to do it's kinda scary, I'm a virgin and he is too, I'm his first girlfriend and he is my second. My first bf went with one of my friends but i didnt care, but when i found out they are almost 'having' sex I freaked. I mean we all are only 14 and really soon both guys turn 15, I mean, both she & I are very worried. We don't know what to do. I know my bf and I wont do anything wrong, yet, but I know and feel it in my heart he is the one, my true love, but sex is such a difficult topic to talk about, I don't know what to do. I need help, I just want to know when should I have sex with my Bf, when we both are older or at least responsible enough to take care of a baby??? I don't know, I'm confused I love him with all my heart, really i do. But the thing is that I'm lost and I have no idea what to say, all i want is to move base, as in more than just kissing & hugging, i want more. I feel so bad but i love it at the same time, I need help can anyone help???

Viridiana

To see my answer, please hit the "continue reading" link below.

During the past few years, I took a long, much-needed break from serious dating and relationships. Maybe there's another post someday in exactly why I did this, but the short answer is that I just needed some breathing room in which to grow and make choices without having to worry about anyone else's needs and choices alongside them.

It was a strange space to find myself in, with my sexual libido remaining more or less intact, but my relationship/dating libido simply disappearing into thin air. But that's also another post.

This post is about the fact that lately, I've found my dating libido is slowly waking itself up. And while the thought of starting up anything serious and long-term still seems highly undesirable, enjoying the benefits of solicitous, varied male company and attention on a more regular basis has become a very, very enjoyable idea again.

When I moved into my era of elective solo-flight, I was in my mid 30s. I've now hit the big 4-0. And I've begun to realize that during those five years of dating self-exile, something significant seems to have changed in the dating world.

When I was growing up, hetero women of my generation were generally given the messaging that if a woman hadn't "found a man" (a.k.a., a husband) by 40 she was out of luck. There was a sense of pity that surrounded the idea of a woman still trying to date in her 40s. Her choices, it was implied, were minimal. The prevailing "wisdom" (and circumstantial proof often supported it) was that:

1) Young men should and did prefer young women their own age, and wouldn't even bother to consider an older woman an option. She'd be more or less invisible to them at best, disgusting to them at worst.

2) As for men her age, she was also out of luck. Older men her age, the wisdom went, if they were any "good" at all, had already been snatched up for marriage. This left her with the "broken," never-married men who were so undesireable no woman had had any interest in them, and dropped them in the reject pile. Except of course, for the playboys and the rich, successful divorced men. And the playboys and rich, successful divorced men, of COURSE, only wanted much younger women.

3) At best, it was implied, if she was lucky, she might be able to date a man many years her senior. Someone post-retirement age, perhaps, who would see HER as a young woman, and therefore, find her not completely undesireable. (That is, if she didn't mind geriatric dating and all.)

Of course, I'm exaggerating slightly here for sarcastic effect, but in truth this was a generally held mythology. And as with so many cultural myths, people often felt pressured to follow these rules. Women dating younger men and men who desired older women were made fun of or treated as freakish fetishes. Women would lie consistently about their age. Asking a woman how old she was was considered an insult.

Now, I've never been one to hide my age or be ashamed of it. I'm pretty proud of it, in fact. And I've always realized, of course, that the prevailing "wisdom" is not always wise. I absolutely didn't want the above to be true. And I knew there were certainly exceptions. But in my 20s and 30s, public evidence of the exception was pretty thin on the ground, while evidence of and support for the rule was everywhere.

So, stepping back out into the scene as a 40-year-old woman interested in dating, I felt somewhat trepidatious as to what I'd find. I certainly wasn't going to accept the stereotypes for myself, but would everyone else still be accepting of them?

What I've found so far has been kind of interesting. I've noticed a switch in something since I've been gone.

It does seem so far that many men of MY generation and older are still buying into the whole younger woman/higher value thing we were taught all those years ago. When I look at personals sites, for instance, or when I go out and talk to guys of my age or older, most of them list women younger than them as the desired goal. At most, the majority of them seem willing to consider women UP TO their age, but no further.

BUT.

The younger guys seem to be all over the older women. While they're not ruling out women their own age or younger, they appear to be casting their desired age ranges way above and below their own age. And when I've been out on the town lately, I've been hit on consistently by men easily ten years my junior or more. And the fact I'm older than them doesn't seem to phase them at all.

I'll grant that I have always looked younger than my age, so that may be a factor. But this feels somewhat different to me than just that. There seems to be a more general openness there by younger men to considering older women that didn't used to be there before.

I think I may be right in believing that this is not just something going on for me, but a wider cultural phenomenon. For instance, I just recently ran across this article by Tristan Taormino in the VIllage Voice called "The Rise of MILFs and Mommies in Sexual-Fantasy Material":

In the past several years...MILF porn has become a viable niche. On the Adult Video News (avn.com) bestselling DVD chart for October 2007, there are 13 MILF movies...They make up less than 15 percent of the titles listed, but in such a crowded field, that is significant. In fact, AVN.com now devotes an entire monthly sales chart just to MILF titles.

...Because of a demand for MILF porn, though, older performers are getting more work than ever before. (Some are first entering the biz at 35 and older.) The plots may be predictable and the dialogue cheesy, but it's a refreshing change to see women with sexual confidence and maturity on-screen.

...At 48, Nina Hartley (nina.com) has made over 650 movies in her 28 years in porn. She says that after five years in the business, the amount of scenes she shot declined (typical for a female performer)—but when she hit 40, there was a serious drop-off. However, in the past three years, she's seen a dramatic spike in her workload, primarily thanks to the rise of MILFs.

Now, technically, the term "MILF" does not generally imply a single, childless older woman. But let's face it, you don't see any kids or husband in MILF porn, so for all intents and purposes, this is a genre that is about the sexual attractiveness of older women in general. Older women are becoming objects of desire in some greater way than they have been in decades past. And I'd guess that the fact that the industry is using the term "MILF" for these titles supports my theory that the primary audience and admirers of for these films are NOT men the same age as the women in the films, but younger men. After all, men my age wouldn't think of me as "mom age." For them, women in their 60s and 70s are "mom age." (Note also that Nina Hartley points out that she's noticed much of this change within the same time frame I mentioned noticing the change out in the dating world.)

It would be interesting to know what the target age of the MILF buying audience is for certain. Are just younger men watching them, or are older men enjoying them in secret, too?

In any case, this certainly indicates that the eroticism of older women is on the rise. Of course, to some extent, there's always been an "older woman as sexual teacher" story theme out there in porn, Hollywood, and fiction. But this is just one part of it. This phenomenon of late seems to go beyond thinking of older women as merely erotic. So far, my personal experience leads me to believe that many younger men these days not only see older women as sexual possibilities, but actual, viable relationship possibilities.

Has anyone else noticed or experienced this change? What brought this on? Could just a few simple cultural shifts like the "Stifler's Mom" scene from American Pie and Ashton Kutcher's unabashed, and seemingly frighteningly normal, marriage to Demi Moore have so quickly opened up younger men's minds to the possibility of enjoying the company of an older woman? How has it happened so fast? Is it new, or did it just open up the permission door for something that was already going on, but men were afraid culturally to be open about?

And when are men my age going to catch on to what they're missing out on? Who ever thought the young guys would be the wiser of the two groups?

And, uh, where do I address my thank-you note to Ashton?

Some people may be looking for some distractions from the standard Valentine's-Day-Week mush...well, here's a little something for everyone to play. And if it helps anyone, whether single or attached, to be able to keep a positive outlook on things this week, all the better.

So, since I'm on the topic of old boyfriends...

It occurred to me this week that despite how nicely or nastily each of my more serious relationships ended, ultimately there were things I carried away from each that I would absolutely count as accrued benefit.

Now, ideally everyone walks away from a failed coupling a little wiser or a little clearer on what they want and don't want in a future relationship, so I'm not talking that kind of emotional growth benefit here. And I'm not talking about the accrued benefit of new sexual tricks learned in each different relationship, either. I'm talking about the little, seemingly insignificant-at-the-time things you end up learning or inheriting from your exes that ultimately have contributed to you becoming a more well-rounded, better equipped, more comfortable, or even more talented, person on this earth. Some of these things might be more intangible/conceptual, like a love of a musical genre or an understanding of a scientific theory, but some might be actual tangible things, like your favorite shirt, a well-played CD, an amazing camping tent, whatever.

For instance, here is a quick short-list of some of the "compound interest" I've gained from past boyfriends of greater significance to me:*

J: A deeper and wider understanding of US politics. An entree into the world of realist graphic novelists.

H: A more highly-refined knowledge of British comedy.

K: A beginner's knowledge of how to play the bass guitar (since forgotten; so not sure this still counts)

M: Loads of computer, internet, and software geekery and tricks. An introduction to understanding the worlds of firearms and science fiction films and lit.

L: A first-hand tutelage on the history of punk. An introduction to the worlds of Spalding Gray/performance art and Jim Thompson/pulp fiction.

P: Stuff about surfing and snowboarding and fancy cars (though to be honest, I didn't care about knowing much about any of these, but the knowledge sunk in due to exposure anyway).

M: An appreciation for opera. Falling in love with Dostoyevski (after a bad high school experience). A primer in Marx and social democracy. My first (and still only) dog-eared copy of The Manifesto of the Communist Party. How to plug in to a more global political knowledge base.

G: Knowledge of how to recognize plants our in the wild. Medicinal and culinary use of herbs. Two kick-ass chef knives. A world-class Swedish pancake recipe. A knowledge of how to cook fish well (and the recognition that I actually LIKED fish, for that matter). How to cook everything else better. How to hike and be "outdoorsy." A whetting of my appetite to learning more about Native American spiritual and political issues. My favorite (commandeered) white men's undershirt to sleep in (now RIP).

C: The understanding that paths don't have to define people. And that nothing bad happens when your path is other than normally prescribed/expected. That one could be different casually and comfortably, without it being any kind of big deal issue or statement.

That's a lot of cool stuff, all of which I feel in one way or another has benefitted me well beyond the relationship's end. Some of these things I was curious about already, but I'm not sure I'd have gotten around to exploring any of them so deeply on my own without having the ex there at the time to provide material and spur my interest on. And some things I doubt I would have ever looked into or used on my own, and having done so as a result of direct contact with my ex, I feel I'm the better for it.

So what treasure have you accrued as a result of trashed relationships? Gimme me your list.

You can answer in the comments, or if you'd like to meme it on your own blog, gimme a link back to it in my comments so I can go read it.

*"Greater significance" meaning I'm only counting those I think of as having had a real emotional, sexual, and/or friendship connection with. I'm not including people I just casually dated. Also, the exes are not listed in any set time order, and initials are not necessarily based on actual names, just to keep things anonymous.

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photo credit: what else do you do with an old boyfriends pair of jeans?? by justbeyou